


Questionable Conviction

by GreyJedi



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mage Origin, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyJedi/pseuds/GreyJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I gave Jowan my word that I would help him, but sometimes other duties come first. Besides, it wasn't as though I'd completely abandoned my oath to him; I just got a little distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questionable Conviction

Jowan was a hard person not to like, he was a bit paranoid and had a habit of jumping to conclusions sometimes, but all in all he was a likeable person. He’d arrived at the Chantry before me and when I passed my Harrowing, Jowan was waiting there by my bedside for me to wake. He was rather anxious about the whole thing, not just for me, but for himself as well.

There was still no word as to when Jowan would undergo his Harrowing and he feared becoming one of the Tranquil, like Owain – the storekeeper. Despite my best attempt to assure him that this would not happen and that his own Harrowing would come in due time, Jowan refused to believe me. After all, he’d been an apprentice longer than I had.

At this point I was sure he was just being stubborn. He wasn’t hunting for reassurance, that wasn’t much in the way of Jowan’s style. Before I was able to tell him that he was being ridiculous, he changed the subject on me, choosing to notify me that Irving wished for me to report for him now that I had awoken.

Jowan never really was much of one for the best timing.

I thought it prudent not to keep Irving waiting; I might not be an apprentice any longer, but it wouldn’t do for my first day as a mage to begin with disobedience.

Owain’s storeroom was on my way up. My curiosity got the better of me and I had to stop and observe him for a few moments. I’d never spared too much thought for Owain; he was nice enough, if a bit odd sometimes. This time I could see the vacancy about him that marked the Tranquil, the imposed behaviour that Jowan was so scared of having forced upon him. It didn’t look so terrible, but then again, all risk of ever having to undergo the ritual myself had vanished upon my harrowing.

He must have noticed me watching him, because Owain greeted me, told me his name and asked if there was anything I required from the storeroom. I declined.

I hadn’t meant to start prying, but after Jowan’s outburst of paranoia earlier, I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to ask a little about what being Tranquil was like. Owain refused to tell me about the ritual, but admitted that he had feared the Harrowing and had submitted himself; he said that he much preferred being Tranquil, and that his life was better without all of those confusing emotions. It seemed like he decided that becoming Tranquil was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It wasn’t as though I was about to argue the point with him.

I think a couple of my questions may have offended him, insofar as it’s possible to offend someone who can’t feel. I apologized anyway before excusing myself to continue on my way to heed Irving’s summons.

Irving presented me with my new robes and instructed me to show the Grey Warden Duncan to his guest room. The whole experience had a distinctly underwhelming feel to it; my first duty as a mage was to show around a guest.

Accompanying Duncan was not so boring as I had feared it would be and he proved to be quite a source of information about the world outside the Chantry, telling me about the Darkspawn and the war. It was all terribly fascinating, and pushed the thoughts of Jowan and his fears from my mind; there were more important things to think about now.

Or so I thought, until Jowan appeared in the hallway outside Duncan's room. He seemed more agitated than before and kept looking around, as though in fear that someone might decide to try and listen in on our conversation. He bade me follow him to somewhere we might speak more freely and be open with each other. I indulged his request, though his apparent nerves were beginning to grate. Still, Jowan was a dear friend and surely I could do something to allay his apprehension.

He led me to the library before declaring that we would be able to converse without fear. I felt the need to point out that there was a priest standing right next to us.

He introduced her to me as Lily, the love of his life.

I expressed my sympathies to her.

Jowan failed to appreciate my sense of humour during what I was sure was about to become a very serious situation. This, his hidden - and definitively forbidden relationship with one of the initiates – was, he claimed, the reason he felt sure that the Chantry would make him Tranquil.

His fear no longer seemed so superficial. I couldn’t help wondering how Jowan had failed to consider the repercussions this would have. I wished I could tell him that he was still being paranoid, but at this point it would be nothing shy of foolish, wishful thinking. It was at this point that he seemed to find the strength within himself to ask me for my aid. I couldn’t bring myself to give him a response one way or the other right away and instead decided to find out what exactly I was to be getting caught up in should I agree. I needed to know what they were going to do.

The answer nearly made me wish I hadn’t thought to ask. The fact that they stated it so plainly made me feel slightly ill. Jowan and Lily wished to recruit my help in obtaining his phylactery so that the two of them might be able to escape together. The notion that I might be helping one who had, until so recently, been my peer as an apprentice become an apostate was nearly too much to comprehend. I knew Jowan too well to entertain the notion that he might give up on this idea if I were to tell him that there was nothing I could do to offer him assistance.

Lily told me how they planned to do it. All I would need to do would be to obtain a fire rod from the store room so we might be able to make our way into the room where the phylacteries were stored. I asked why I was going to be the one doing the dirty work. The thought of being caught doing something so against the rules and so soon after rising from my apprentice status was worrisome. Lily assured me that it was only because of my recently acquired status that I was to be so employed, that I would attract less attention as new mage than Jowan would as an apprentice.

It was with great reluctance and the deepest of reservations that I agreed to assist them in their plan. Jowan was my friend and surely after years of friendship, I owed it to him to see that the Chantry not take from him the very essence of his being. I gave them my word that I would assist however I could; I vowed to see this through to the end, my resolve growing with every word I spoke. Perhaps I was just trying to delude myself into believing that if I were to play a part in their scheme that we would share a greater success than they would alone.

My first stop was the storeroom to obtain for them the needed fire rod. Owain greeted me exactly as he had earlier that day. It was slightly unnerving, as though he were too free of his thoughts to bother forming a memory of me. His attitude towards me was rather off-putting and I’m sure that I failed to sound as confident as I had hoped I might be able to. Whether he suspected something, or was always so thorough with his follow-up questions I was unable to ascertain, but when my answers became less thought out, less like the replies expected from fully realized mages, I knew that Owain was beginning to suspect me.

Lying to the Tranquil is hard.

Telling Owain that I needed the fire rod for my combustion related research – which, had I thought to phrase it as such may have sounded more as though I knew what I was doing – was almost definitely my downfall. He handed me a permission slip and informed me that I required the signature and approval of a Senior Enchanter before he would release the rod to me. I think there’s more that goes on in that mind of his than Owain will ever let on. I thanked him and excused myself, cursing my ineptitude and wishing that I had been more eloquent in my word selection.

I had thought that simply obtaining the fire rod would be the easy part of my quest; it seemed that being wrong was becoming a theme today.

My instinct was to ask Irving for his approval, but I could not bring myself to make my way towards his office. If Irving knew what I was doing, that I was helping a would-be apostate, a would-be apostate in a relationship with one of the initiates, escape from the Chantry’s grasp, I could only imagine the consequences. No, Irving was out of the question, I would have to ask someone else. Moving with the greatest determination I strode down to the library to seek out some less prolific help.

Senior Enchanter Sweeny was rummaging through the bookshelves when I walked by. I needed the signature of a senior enchanter and surely it could not hurt to ask him. If he said no, then I merely had to go on my way and find help elsewhere and if he said yes… Well, I would be that much closer to helping Jowan. I approached him cautiously; I’d never spoken much with Sweeny and was not at all sure that my interruption would be welcomed.

I had to remind myself that I was doing this for Jowan, that he had trusted me enough to ask for my assistance, the least I could do was to try requesting a small favour of Sweeny.

Sweeny didn’t recognize me, not that I had been expecting him to. It wasn’t as though he’d played a significant role in my life during my apprenticeship. He asked who I was and I knew I would have to choose my words with care. As much as I longed to give him a smart answer, getting too mouthy would do nothing to aid my cause. I had to remind myself that I was doing this for Jowan, for my friend.

I held out my form and asked for his approval in my need to obtain the fire rod. I didn’t need to persuade him much to look at the form. He read through it, musing out loud as to why I would be requiring such an item. I had to fight to keep myself from showing any signs of anxiety; after my poor attempt at lying to Owain, I couldn’t imagine an attempt at more of the same would be any more successful with a senior enchanter. I feared that he would actually demand an answer from me and was already struggling to fabricate a less faulty excuse.

My fear, it turned out, was for naught. Even as the question passed Sweeny’s lips, he seemed to change his mind, quickly following up by saying that he actually had no interest in knowing. I tried not to let my relief show, lest he change his mind again. If my relief showed through, Sweeny either failed to notice it, or chose not to, instead regaling me with tales of novices who had gotten ahold of fire rods for less-than-academic purposes, like groups of boys burning holes in the wall of rooms occupied by the girls so that they might be able to spy upon their colleges. I allowed myself a smile at the tale while Sweeny laughed from the memory, unsure if it was appropriate to show much mirth.  His amusement was still apparent as he regarded my form once more, chuckling over past indiscretions.

I never would have expected the next words out of his mouth. He signed my form and told me of one of Templars in the library, how the man always gave him “the stink-eye” and how much he had grown to dislike the man. As he returned the form to me, Sweeny told me that if I could find the time to locate the Templar and set his pants aflame, he would greatly appreciate it.

Never would I have anticipated the senior enchanter to make such a request.

I thanked him for his help and scurried back to the storeroom, mulling over how I would accomplish such a task. I didn’t even realize that I had seriously decided to take up Sweeny’s mission until I had handed off the sheet to Owain and he was looking around the storeroom for my rod. Something must have shown in my posture, because Owain seemed to be eyeing me with the barest hint of suspicion. At least, I thought that he was. Despite dealing with him thrice that day, I was no more adept at reading Owain than I had been that morning; an acquired skill no doubt, perhaps I would learn it in time.

I thanked him for the rod and liked to imagine that he was pleased by my manners, a ridiculous notion, of course. Still, it made me feel less awkward about the whole encounter. It served to ease my apprehension as well as I hoped that my politeness might keep Owain from expressing any suspicion to Irving. Assuming Owain really could experience the sensation known as suspicion. It never hurts to be nice to people, regardless.

It was difficult to act casually with my task so set in mind. I felt sure that people were able to read my thoughts as though they were presented to the world in a large bubble of text above my head. I could only imagine what Irving would do if he knew, what anyone would do if they knew. My walk to the library left me glancing over my shoulders at the slightest sound, jumping every time I encountered another mage; I don’t think I could have been more conspicuous if I had lifted the fire rod above my head and shouted my intentions to the Maker for all to hear.

Jowan and Lily caught me upon my return and inquired as to the status of my task. I side-stepped awkwardly around them, fire rod shoved uncomfortably up one of my sleeves and hands behind my back. I told them that Owain didn’t release items from the stores to newly realized mages without the approval of a senior enchanter. It wasn’t exactly a lie, not really. It wasn’t as if they knew I had already obtained the rod with minimal effort.

They exchanged looks and I was sure they were about to question me further. Sweat prickled at my brow; surely I’d be able to tell them I was just nervous about this.

Jowan spoke first, urging me to hurry.

I assured him that everything was under control, that he needn’t worry, I just needed some more time. It still wasn’t lying. I couldn’t have outright lied to Jowan. I’d sworn to help him and the more I tried to rationalize it to myself, the more I could nearly believe that going after the Templar would help us. It was a diversion, a distraction that would buy us time and allow us to get to his phylactery before anyone could stop us.

Provided I wasn’t caught in the act before we could even get a move on.

Neither of them looked happy about letting me continue my venture, but it wasn’t as though they were able to stop me either. I held the seniority and without me they would never obtain the needed rod.

Lily urged me to hurry.

I promised that I would. I left them, scurrying uncomfortably away, slipping the rod out of my sleeve as I turned a corner.

That Templar had to be here somewhere. Sweeny had described him to me and I looked about for the man, to no avail. Tendrils of fear began to gnaw at me as I contemplated what it would mean if I failed this quest, what it would do to Jowan if I was caught.

Doubtless I was quite a sight, standing there in the library with my back pressed up against a shelf, fire rod in hand as I scanned for my man. As it turned out, he found me. My strange behaviour had been enough to raise concern and I jumped when he placed a hand on my shoulder, cringing as he demanded to know what I was playing at. Had I not already been backed against the shelf already, I’m sure I would have stumbled back and fell.

The first excuse I could think to come up with involved something about having difficultly looking for a particular tome and how I was hoping I might be able to spy it better out of the corner of my eye. A method which I assured him had worked wonders for me in the past.

I soon found myself on the receiving end of the “stink-eye” to which Sweeny had alluded. No wonder he had asked me to do this for him. I grinned at the Templar as best I could and told him that, stupid as it might sound, there was no need for me to go messing with a perfectly good method of finding books. The argument seemed less than convincing.

In an attempt to convince him, I edged along the shelf, groping at the books, scanning the shelf as I inched along. I allowed myself to nearly reach the end of the shelf before making a sound of triumph and selecting an indiscriminate volume whereupon I began to leaf through its contents.

He shook his head and walked away, muttering about mages and how magic warped the minds of those unlucky enough to be cursed with it.

I waited until he’d rounded the corner before slipping the book back – some boring thing about the many uses of elfroot – and took to creeping after him. My unwitting target led me to a nearly unoccupied corner of the library. A couple other mages lurked nearby, engrossed in their research.

Adjusting my grip on the fire rod, I pointed it at the Templar and cast. The heat it let out was intense and the flames burned far brighter than I had meant for them to.

I ducked around a nearby shelf to peer through the books to chance a look at the following events. My aim had been spot on and already a cheerful little flame was flickering its slow way up my target’s leg.

I needed to go.

There was a yell, not from the Templar, but from one of the mages nearby, a sharp cry. “Fire!” That was my cue to leave, to grab Jowan and Lily and run down to the basement as fast as our legs could carry us. I chanced a look back as we bolted and saw smoke. Too much smoke.

It was then that I realized that lighting a man’s pants on fire in the middle of the Chantry library – a library filled with priceless and extremely combustible books – was probably one of the stupidest decisions I’d ever made


End file.
